Fallout: The Ringleaders
by Azra'eil
Summary: The wasteland is home to several different types of different characters from gritty to innocent. This story follows the lives of several of these everyday characters as they traverse across the land and become so much more than the normal people they appear to be. Note: Rating may change as the story progresses.
1. Chapter 1: Nameless

Hunger. It had eaten more seasoned wastelanders than her. But as far as she knew, she had always been in the wasteland, or at least for the last six years. Beyond that she had no recollection, the only thing even let her know that she had been anything other than alone her whole life was that she could speak, use tools reasonably well, and wasn't what most considered to be a feral animal. As such, living alone for so many years in the wasteland had conditioned her to endure hunger for large periods of time.

So she ignored the hunger as she pushed herself up from the dusty ground. It was midday; she found it best to sleep early in the morning – less dangerous predators roamed around then, and as long as you weren't in raider territory, wastelanders normally left you alone.

She heard a rustle from one of the hardy shrubs of the wasteland and jerked her head up. _Damn mole rat_. She grimaced slightly and unslung her rifle from her shoulder, raised it up, and fired just as the mole rate saw her. The shot hit, but the rat's hardy hide allowed it to keep moving; however, it did not allow it to take a second hit. She made her way over to her kill and drew her knife out. It didn't take her long to skin, clean, and divvy up cuts. Afterwards, she started a small fire and smoked the meat and restrained herself from devouring it all as she made it. She packed most of it save for one strip that she started to ravenously munch on. After she finished, she wiped down the two railroad spikes she used on the mole rat. They weren't too hard to come by, but finding them required her to go either in or around the railway tunnels which wasn't a good idea if one wanted to avoid danger.

Once that was finished, she grabbed her overstuffed backpack and headed north, as indicated by compass toward what a map she bought off of a caravan said was a town. Three hours, three bloatflies, one mole rat, and a gallon of sweat later, she arrived on the outskirts of a town constructed from various materials, with about a five-foot wooden and tin fence with barbwire on top surrounding it. It had a few weary, worn looking sentries posted outside of the gate with a leashed dog sitting at one of their heels. One of the guards moved forward.

"What's your business here, wastelander?" asked the guard that moved forward.

"Supplies. Here to sell and buy some," she replied. She wasn't worried the questioning or the guards, it was a common enough precaution.

"Alright. Carry on – just don't cause any trouble with that rifle of yours," he said and gestured for the guard without the dog to open the gate, and she entered.

The entrance of the town opened to the market area of the town, with the housing district in the back, behind the vendors and businesses in order to distance the actual townspeople's living spaces from the business and travellers. She quickly navigated the marketplace until she found a stall that had a vendor who looked halfway honest and sold some of the salvaged equipment that she had found. After she got as many bottlecaps as she could squeeze out of the sell, she looked around for a business that was actually located in a building (they bought for less and sold for more but what they sold actually lasted for more than a week). She went in and found a shop full of scavenged items, some junk some not. The man at the counter was old and wrinkled but looked like he would shoot at the first sign of anyone trying to lift any of his prized goods. She moved around and picked up several things including some shoes that _didn't_ have the soles worn to the bottom, some oil for her makeshift rifle, and a new flint spark lighter.

Fortunately, it all seemed to be in good condition; unfortunately, it also ate up most of the caps she just made; however, she also had a saved up the surpluses from her previous transactions so she wasn't completely out of money. So in light of this, she wandered from the general store over to a saloon across the way. She got a few glances when she walked in, but no one really payed attention to her. _Finally reaching an age where people won't always ask where my parents are,_ she thought and pulled up a seat at the bar.

"Glass of water please and two bottles to go," she said to the bartender. The water was overpriced, but she couldn't afford to pass it up. She considered getting some barbequed iguana as well but knew she shouldn't splurge. And then, of course, a guy had to slide down next to her.

"What's your name baby?" asked about a twenty year old settler with feathery blond hair, scruff, and a thick accent.

"Don't have one; get lost," she said.


	2. Chapter Two: The Repairman

Alexander Kingston looked down at his dark, wrinkled hands. Five minutes of scrubbing still had not removed the grease from them. A lifetime in the vault and he still had not mastered the art of cleaning himself up after a repair job. That, however, did not mean that he was not the best repairman in the vault. On one hand, that meant that he escaped most of the scrutiny other workers came under, but that also meant that he was busy at all hours during the day and the night. Alexander's sweet, deep sleep was interrupted by his wife, who informed him about a job he was to be given – some of the turbines that powered the system were out of order. So, he got of bed, dressed for work, and made his way down to the turbines. The job did not take that long; it was an easy one, and he made his way back up to his room to wash his hands and return to bed.

And that's when Alexander realized that he had forgotten his toolbox in his stupor. So he went downstairs and grabbed the toolbox, but as he turned to leave, Alexander heard a soft _klunk_ from the corner of the room.

"Who's there?" he called out, "You are not supposed to be down here."

As he asked the question, a small figure darted from the corner and around a turbine then headed towards the door. Unfortunately for the small child, just because Alexander was well past his prime, he had not lost any of his speed yet. Alexander grabbed the child's arm in his right and a flashlight from the toolbox in his left. When he flicked on the light he saw a raven-haired child with pale skin and sharp, green eyes.

"What is your name, young man?" Alexander asked the boy.

"What's it matter to you what my name is? S'not like you can do anything with it," said the boy smartly. He was referring to the fact that Alexander was not one of the vault security members; Alexander could not officially do anything with the boy or his name – it was not his job.

"I could just take you to a supervisor or guard if you would rather, mister -?"

The boy struggled for a few seconds and then relented. "My name's Morgan Broderick," he said reluctantly.

"Well, Morgan, I trust you know that you are not supposed to be here at all, much left after hours – wait. Not the same Broderick as Security Chief Broderick?"

"You repair mooks aren't so quick on the uptake are you? Yes, I am Security Chief Broderick's offspring."

"Look, son, I am not looking to get into trouble with your father. How about you go back upstairs where you belong, and I get back to bed," pled Alexander. The Security force here was not too harsh in the vault but they did wield more power than anyone else. And it was not unheard for things to go badly for people that crossed them.

"Well, Mr. Repairman, as much as I'd like to take you up on your offer, I have other plans for tonight"

Alexander was about to open his mouth to rebuke the boy, but he heard a _click_ in the background. As soon as he turned around he saw a turbine explode, the bright burning orange from the center of the turbine flame out brilliantly against the darkness as it illuminated the shrapnel flying out in all directions. Alexander dropped the child and turned away, shielding his face and huddling against the wall. The force from the blast flung both him and the boy of their feet. The result caused Alexander's nose to bleed, eyes to water, and head to ache. His fuzzy vision made out the boy getting to his feet and taking off. Alexander looked up to see where he was going – the blast. It had forced open the tunnel that lead to the vault's entrance. Alexander stumbled to his own feet, but as he did his ringing ears heard cracks. Behind him he saw the vault's security force firing at himself and the boy. Alexander panicked; it would not matter what he said or did, the security force would neither believe the words from his lips nor tolerate the existence of someone they expected to have breached the vault.

And so he ran. Alexander sprinted to the hole with the security team in close pursuit. He zigzagged through the tunnel, somehow managing to avoid the deadly fire. The boy, however, suffered from this evasion. A shot found its way to one of his legs just three feet from the entrance to the real world. Alexander considered leaving him – the boy was the psychopath that had gotten him into this mess, but he found himself not being capable of leaving the child there to bleed and be at the Supervisor's wrath. He picked up the boy and made his way to the entrance. As he opened the door, the light blinded him but also did the same to the security forces, and he made his way outside where the force would not follow him.

The air smelled….dirty.


	3. Chapter Three: Ghoulish

Jackson sipped at his whiskey. It didn't burn quite like it used to nor did it hit him quite as hard as it used to either. That pissed him off; so he downed the rest of it, slamming the empty glass down onto the table.

"More," he demanded.

The barmaid sneered at him and then poured another. "Careful there, we'd hate to have to put down another one of you ghouls cause he got drunk and all rowdy," she said condescendingly.

Jackson decided to reply back with words and instead just chugged the rest of his new glass, slamming it down again. He uttered to the girl, "Another."

When the girl reached down to pick up the glass, a hand slammed down next to it.

"I don't think you heard the lady, freak. Tone it back down," growled a burly man that had the smell of alcohol on his breath.

"Go shove your bravado. And your bigotry, bastard."

"Talk to me like that again, and I'll hang you, you undead f-"

The man stopped short there as Jackson brought his bowie knife down on his hand, going straight through it and lodging it into the wood. Jackson heard several chairs moving in the background and spun around, pulling out his revolver. About five men had gotten up, each grabbing an assortment of bottles, knives, and guns. Jackson let loose a round for show. "Anybody think they're faster than me?" he asked.

The men stood a little longer then slowly took their seats again. The bartender took the bottle that the barmaid had been pouring it from, thrust it Jackson's way, and said," Take it and get out."

Jackson snatched the bottle away and holstered his revolver. He then punched out the guy that started this whole mess and yanked his knife out. He got a few glares as he walked out, but no one tried to start anything this time. It had been daylight when Jackson had first entered the bar; now it was approaching sundown. Damn, _I was planning on staying there for the night_, he thought. _Guess that dump around the corner will have to do. Three months and then that ass had to ruin it all. Guess I'll have to move again after all. _

The town's sheriff was walking to him. _Great_, thought Jackson. "Problem here, sheriff?" said Jackson, annoyance showing through.

"That was you in the bar, then, yeah?" asked the sheriff. The sheriff was a man or darker completion, the color of the sand of the vast wasteland. He wore not a ridiculous cowboy hat like some of the other sheriffs, but his appearance was ridiculous nonetheless – he had taken to wearing and old business suit and a fedora. Unfortunately, it had become something of a regulation uniform for his deputies as well.

"Yeah. Some jackass decided to threaten me. Of course, then the entirety of the bar decided it was their business too," said Jackson, preparing himself for a struggle.

"Ah. Yes, well, you know we can't have troublemaking here. And since your presence here has, well, caused a certain amount of unrest, I am going to have to ask to take leave of this city. Starting tomorrow."

"Planning on it anyway. Bye, " said Jackson. He scowled and stalked away from the man. Dealing with this kind of thing was getting irritating. _Maybe I should go to that hellhole in D.C._, he mused. His thoughts were soon interrupted by several gunshots and the screaming of several terrified individuals coming from the town gate. Jackson glanced over to see what had gotten the people so frightened. He was unmoved by the appearance of several raiders throwing Molotov cocktails and firing their weapons as they stormed the gates. Some of the more seasoned wastelanders that were in the village had taken to arms against the invaders. Jackson, unimpressed and in no mood to be of any help to the villagers continued his journey to his intended accommodations for the night.

"Good god, man, aren't you going to help us?" yelled the sheriff.

Jackson just shot him a looked and continued on his way.

"Fine, fine! You can stay in the town. As a citizen. With benefits. Or a reward even. Jackson, dammit, my men can't handle all of these raiders. We need every experienced man to aid us," the sheriff pled, desperate for help.

"Reward, you say?" asked Jackson, smugly and un-holstered his revolver as he jogged over to the raiders. _So the stories told about my exploits in the bar weren't wasted after all_, he thought.

Jackson arrived on the scene but seconds later. Three raiders were at the front, firing upon two wastelanders and a deputy that had taken cover behind a wagon. While they gunned down the two wastelanders, Jackson fired twice, hitting each of the raiders in the chest; they jerked back and fell on the ground. _Three shots left_. Jackson spun around to the back of street post, avoiding the shots the third raider had fired at him. The time bought by this allowed the deputy to get off two rounds at the raider, one that missed and one that hit his leg. As Jackson finished his turnabout around the post he fired another shot at the raider, the shot cracking through the raider's collarbone, disabling him.

Jackson chose hit next three targets, two with Molotov cocktails and one with a pump action shotgun. Jackson fired twice, shattering the two cocktails, setting the two raiders aflame who ran off screaming out of the gate. This caught shotgun's attention who took Jackson's third shot to the shoulder. Unfortunately, this didn't kill the raider but did throw off the shot he had aimed at Jackson. Jackson used this time to fling his bowie knife at the man, hitting him in his gut. Jackson slammed into the man, knocking the shotgun out of his grasp and drug his knife up through the rest of his midsection for good measure.

There were several more, but the deputies that had arrived in force and the wastelander seemed to have them under control. There were, however, two with automatic rifles that were firing upon the crowd. Jackson reached down and picked up the fallen shotgun, pumped it, and fired at the one furthest from him, killing the raider. Jackson then sprinted towards the other, and as the raider brought his rifle to face him, Jackson slid down and knocked down the raider, who fell to the side. This was not the end, however, because the raider still had the rifle and pointed it at Jackson, who promptly kicked the barrel out of his face just before the raider opened fire. Desperate for time, Jackson aimed a kick at the raider's crotch, followed by another and another. He then rolled to his feet and crushed the man's throat under his foot.

Jackson looked up to find the remaining raiders dead and the deputies and wastelanders staring at him. Jackson dusted off him coat and then whirled as he heard a sound behind him. At the gate was a woman raider with spiked hair, a broken nose, and blood oozing out of a cut. Jackson noticed burnt flesh and clothing on her person. In her hands was a pistol aimed right at Jackson. _Shit_.

There was a violent _crack_ through the air and blood sprayed over his face as the raider's head exploded. Jackson breathed a sigh of relief as he turned about and peered far into the town to see a deputy with a rifle in his hands.


	4. Chapter 4: The Magician & the Mercenary

"Step right up ladies and gentlemen, and be amazed as you witness right before you eyes – magic. Yes, magic and mystery, unlike anything you have ever seen before!" shouted the street magician. He was young, about twenty-one years of age and had blond hair and bright blue eyes. What his loud voice didn't bring in, his looks and charm would. "What about you, miss?" he inquired of a young lady walking by, " You look like you could do with some wonder in your life."

She was the last of his targets as he had already gathered a small crowd of people before him. He took her hand and led her to the center of the crowd. _Beautiful girl always does the trick. That and sleight of hand, anyway_, he thought. Just as he was about to start his trick, a loud voice boomed from across the street.

"Isaac Chesterfield!" shouted a rather loud man.

_ Aw, not again_, the young magician thought. "Can I help you, sir?" he inquired.

"Don't move," said the man. He was dressed in a thick, black bullet-proof vest with gloves to match and thick jeans with combat boots. It appeared he was a Talon mercenary. He also happened to have a shotgun pointed at the magician.

Isaac slipped something down from his sleeve into his hand. He than lifted up both of his hands and proclaimed," Whoa, whoa! Nothing wrong going on here, sir. Why not just sit back and enjoy the show?"

As soon as the mercenary was about to reply, Isaac flicked what he had hidden in his palm forward. Pops and flashes and smoke were the result. It distracted the mercenary briefly – but it was briefly enough for Isaac to slip into the crowd behind him and run down an alleyway. The magician checked all of the door handles on the way down and soon found on to be open. Unfortunately for him, as soon as he walked in, he saw cage bars all around him. When he opened the door behind him, he found himself, once again, facing a shotgun barrel.

"Look, man, I have gems and caps and trinkets of all kinds. You're welcome to have a peek and take you pi-"

"I'm not interested in your trinkets, Isaac," said the mercenary thrusting out a pair of rusty, old handcuffs at the magician, "cuff yourself, if you please."

"We've played this game for quite sometime now, Marv, can we skip the part where you "capture" me and get on to the escaping part?"

Isaac was met with a rather sharp poke from shotgun barrel in face; since he wasn't looking forward to more of the same treatment, he snatched the handcuffs out of the mercenary's grasp. He was about to think he gotten off rather easily when Marv spoke again.

"Back yourself back into the room, thank you. And you'll be removing your coat and any cute lockpicking devices from your person, as well as any other gadgets for escape," Marv said as Isaac promptly followed his instructions. _Ah, he's caught me before his teatime, hasn't he? No wonder he's so cranky today_, thought Isaac.

It took several minutes for Isaac to remove the various contraptions and goods on his person. When had emptied everything, he slapped the handcuffs around his wrists. He then watched while the man who had been chasing him across the wasteland for sometime bagged his belongings and coat into his own very full pack.

"I, uh, have more things in the room I've been renting if you wouldn't mind picking some things up for me," Isaac asked. Over the course of the chase, Marv and Isaac had gotten to know each other well enough. At first it was the normal mercenary-prey relationship; Marv yelled and shot and smacked Isaac around and Isaac came up with the dirtiest tricks to get away. But after many chases and captures they had come have an…odd relationship and respect for each other. Besides, Marv had also come to appreciate Isaac's bag of tricks, and he enjoyed searching Isaac's things so he know what he might come up against in the future.

Marv sighed and slung his pack over his shoulder. He spoke, saying, "It had better all fit in one of my crates. I just stocked my wagon with supplies before coming for you, Isaac."


	5. Chapter 5: Vault Boy Gone Bad

_Damn. _Damn._ How did this happen? Everything was perfection – from the appearance of the repairman to explosion of the turbine. The repairman was supposed to shield the majority of the blast then be just conscious enough to garner the attention of the security guards while he made his exit. Instead, the fool somehow managed to get up, evade the fire from the guards, and get me shot in the leg all in one go. Now, not only do I have a bullet in my leg, but I'm also stuck with this moron too_. All this went through Morgan's head as the repairman carried him through the door to the real world. _I've got to get this idiot to bandage my leg then ditch him as soon as possible. Then I can make my way to a nearby town and go about my way._

_Now, let's see what's around here. If I have any luck, it'll at least halfway resemble what's on the maps I've been collecting. That garage. Is that a…motorcycle? And it seems that there are several other parts in there as well. Hm. Maybe this repairman has more uses for me after all._

"Yes, yes. That's quite enough. You can put me down now," said Morgan.

The repairman tossed the boy to the ground and yelled, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"And what is it, exactly, do you plan to accomplish by yelling? You obviously aren't going to hurt me. And what I was thinking was that I was going to be leaving the vault. A thought that was realized quite nicely, don't you think?"

"You mean to tell me that you almost got me killed and blew up a turbine so you could have a peek outside? You do realize that we cannot go back? That you dragged me into this as well? I have a family in there, boy!"

"Your insistent yelling is useless. It's all done now; no use yelling about it. And no, it wasn't for a peek outside. It was so I could _live_ outside. For an opportunity to not live in a can. If it's any consolation, you weren't supposed to come along, but you should be grateful, now you won't have to live in the can either. You're free now, from all of it."

"I did not _want_ to be free, child. I have a wife and a son with grandchildren on the way!"

"Then by all means, charge down there and explain to the men your story. See if you can be with you beloved family again."

"You. You are some kind of psychopath."

"Yes, well, now that we've gotten that out of the way, I don't suppose that you'd like to bandage up my leg. Just rip off some of your sleeve there and tie it over me. Maybe then we can see about fixing up one of those vehicles over there and get to a city."

The repairman complied and tied up his leg, but he made no move to the garage. "You can fix the things yourself," said the man.

"While you do what? What can you do all by yourself?" asked Morgan, taking out a map and waving it before the repairman. He then inquired, "You won't survive a day out there. Where's your plan? Have you some resources I don't know about?"

"You are a real bastard, little boy. You think that _you_ are going to be able to make it out there on your own? But fine. I guess we can play your game for now. But as soon as we arrive somewhere with a doctor, you are on you own," said the repairman with some exasperation, but this time, he made his way over to the garage.

_Good. Now I can study these maps. _Morgan pulled out two more of the maps he had collected and unrolled them all. _Let's see. We are here. And there used to be a major city there. And there was supposed to be a supply center constructed about twelve and a half miles southeast from here. If any luck, it will still be intact. Or at the very least, other survivors will have set up there._ After that, he marked on the maps where he was and dotted a line to his intended destination, he'd draw a line to where he actually ended up once he arrived there. Then he put up his maps and pulled out some of the materials he had collected and reviewed his inventory list. _I have enough instant food and water for a few days at the very least. Though, fewer now that I have a…companion. Some paper to records and two pencils, a Pip-Boy, a 10mm pistol and two extra magazines, some currency, medical supplies, turpentine, abraxo, Nuka colas and Nuka cola quantums, tin cans, candy, some coffee, and then some various bits of parts and gadgets he had been grabbing for months. What I don't use, I can sell. Hopefully this cash will be enough to buy something. Now, where are my glasses?..._


End file.
